Darkness
by erika red
Summary: The detectives are plauged by nightmares.
1. Fear

_This is definitely out of left field.. Hope you like it, please R&R._

* * *

She sat up slowly. Her hair was a little messy, but only on account of it being longer. Her legs were cold, and she looked down to see high heeled black velvet mary janes. Her legs were white, very white, and she realized she was wearing white thigh highs underneath a short blue dress. Her hand was clenched around something, and she lifted it, staring at the knife in confusion. She rustled when she stood, and realized that the dress she was wearing only just covered her ass. It was a full skirt, though, on account of the layers of ruffles underneath it. She ached, vaguely. She was in a dark, slightly damp... sewer? There was a faint, persistent blue glow to everything, as though light from the street were leaking in somewhere. 

"What ever this is, it's _royally fucked." _She murmured. As she looked around, she sighed deeply. At least she had a knife.

She shivered in the cool air, and started walking.

* * *

His breathing was shallow, and he held it, quietly, praying his heart wasn't beating too loudly. The shadow paused for the longest moment, then continued. The floor creaked in soft protest. The worn leather shoes disappeared into the hallway, and a voice bellowed, "I'm going to find you, you little shit!" 

He didn't dare crawl out from under the bed.

* * *

A flicker indicated light up ahead, and she moved toward it, trying to walk quietly despite the echo of the tunnels. A murmur of undistinguishable voices could be heard, and she stepped around the corner. The men were grotesque. A sad, mutilated, almost comical collection of pain and despair. One was missing an eye, and skin had sealed itself over the socket. Another had a hunchback, and the third remained in the shadow, unmoving, and silent. 

"Who's there?" The one-eyed man shouted hoarsely into the darkness.

Alex stopped, holding her breath.

"Come out or I'll sniff you out."

She stepped out of the shadow and into the flicker of the fire they had burning in a barrel or trash can, she couldn't tell which at this point.

"Where am I?" She kept the knife gripped tightly behind her back, her other hand gently holding her wrist.

"You're down here, with us."

"Where is 'here'?"

"Underground. Tunnels. Not too bright, are you?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm the seer," The man barked a laugh at this, and the hunchback stamped his feet.

"I'm a police detective. I need you to tell me a way out of here."

"Oh, there's no way out."

"That's.."

"I've looked." He hissed at her, his one eye staring at her, squinting slightly.

* * *

His mother smiled at him. There was sun shining into the kitchen, and she handed him a sandwich on a plate. Her hand was disproportionately large, though, and oddly colored. It was pale, almost gray, and clammy. She shook it, looking at it in horror. He pulled back from the plate, her hand and the smell. She cried out, a sound of fear, her flesh aging and sagging and bloating, decomposing before his eyes, until she lay before him.

* * *

"Do you know these tunnels well?" She demanded, moving closer. The seer pulled away, almost in fear. 

"Well enough."

"What's up ahead?"

"Darkness."

"Anything else?"

"You'd do well to fear the dark, little girl."

* * *

The room was red, entirely. The soft carpet was red. The walls and ceilings were red. Heavy drapes that covered unseen windows were also red. It was long, and big. Like a ballroom, maybe. There were no doors, and the drapes lifted to reveal wall.

* * *

She had walked on, past them, when the air warmed behind her. Something soft brushed her bare arm, and she whirled, knife bared to see the man who had kept himself hidden in shadows. He held something in his hand to her, and while she couldn't read his face, she slowly lowered the knife. 

"Take it." He rasped, his voice a dry whisper. "You'll need it ahead." He pressed a box of wooden matches into her palm.

* * *

He paced the room, wondering how to escape it. No doors, no windows. No way to get out. He turned, scanning for the hundredth time, and realized it had gotten larger. Now, three shallow steps led up to a sitting area. More red, more shadows. Red chairs faced one another. The room was growing.

* * *

The darkness wasn't just the absence of light. It was a thing, a liquid inky thing that covered everything, surrounding her almost instantly. One moment, she had been in the blue shadow of tunnel, the hint of a fire behind her, and now... she couldn't tell where it had been. It was almost as if the darkness had been waiting for her, surrounding her in itself and disorienting her. Even though she had taken only a step into it, she knew she couldn't simply back up. It had gotten her.

* * *

_It isn't real. _He thought. 

"This isn't real!" He shouted into the room, his voice loud at first, then dropping off into nothing. Swallowed by the vast sinister red space.

The room was silent, empty, devoid of any person or thing. It was the room itself that responded. A silent explosion seemed to shudder through its very foundations. Anger, fury, absolute hatred seemed to radiate from every corner. From the carpet, to the drapes. The redness of the walls seemed to ooze it. Malice and contempt for him. He turned, watching for any real movement or action. There were none, but the chairs were gone. The steps had disappeared, absorbed into the room once more. It was narrower, now. Smaller. Slightly smaller.

"This is just a dream. I can wake up. I'm not afraid of this. It isn't real." He laughed, and though the sound of it was swallowed soon enough, it didn't drop into nothing as before.

The room shuddered and the drapes shook with it. One of them parted to reveal slick blackness. Glass keeping darkness and freedom out.

* * *

She couldn't see anything. She couldn't feel anything, either. There was a stillness that surrounded her, like she was wrapped in a cocoon of blackness. Despite the silence, the stillness, and the darkness -- the all encompassing unyeilding darkness, she _knew _something was watching her. 

She stood, perfectly still, barely breathing. It had it's face an inch from hers, staring into her with hatred, waiting for her to move foward.

* * *

"This isn't even a _nightmare_. You know why? Because it lacks anything frightening. This is just a weird dream, a mildly unsettling dream, maybe, but no more than that." 

The room warped, a pulse going through it, and the drapes fell away revealing windows that held a black emptiness at bay.

* * *

She kept her eyes closed. Despite the darkness, she was still afraid she might catch a glimpse of what waited for her, and she didn't want to.

* * *

It was the emptiness that was kept from him only by thin, thin panes of glass that terrified him. The room wasn't meant to be frightening. It was his last, and only defense from the darkness beyond. He woke up, gasping.

* * *

Something was beeping faintly. The darkness that surrounded her slipped, and she was able to pull away from it, to step back... she turned over and grabbed her phone. 

"Eames," She muttered.

"Hey."

"Hi.. what's up?"

"Nothing." His voice was soft, sleepy. "I just.. had a bad dream. I wanted to hear your voice."

"I had one too."

"What was it about?"

"I don't know.. it was just creepy. I don't... really remember. I just woke up scared silly."

"Yeah."

"Are you okay?"

"Mhmm." He yawned.

"Good."

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"I'm glad you did."

"Strange timing."

"Very." She too yawned, and curled up, pulling her blankets over her shoulder.

"You feel better?"

"Yeah. A lot."

"It's late. I'll let you go," He whispered.

"Okay."

"Goodnight, Alex."

"'Night, Bobby."


	2. Despair

The sunlight was surreal in contrast to the darkness that had threated to overwhelm her. The alarm hadn't even gone off yet, and she flicked the switch before it could. It was surprisingly quiet for New York City. As she got up to make coffee, her cell phone chirped to life.

"Eames."

"Deakins. I need you on a scene right away. We have a hostage situation at a bank... A judge is in there, with a handful of people."

"I'm on my way."

She towel dried her hair, put on a pair of black pants with a blue fitted dress shirt, throwing a black jacket over top. She glanced longingly at the coffee maker before grabbing her keys and heading out.

* * *

"I'm Detective Eames, this is Detective Goren.. what can you tell us?" She squinted up at the officer, her partner, in sunglasses, looked around. 

"Some nut case with a gun." The man sighed. "I doubt he knows one of his hostages is a Judge. Not that it really matters, but at least she's not a specific target."

"Thanks. We're gonna see if we can wrap this up for you guys."

"We appreciate it," His brows were raised in dubious surprise at her confidence, but he wasn't going to contradict her.

"Coffee?" Goren handed her a cup.

"Thanks." She looked at it, then sipped it. "Where'd you get coffee from?"

"One of the ..." He gestured vaguely.

"Detectives! He's making demands!"

Goren and Eames turned.

"He's demanding to speak with .." The officer scowled in confusion, "Our 'leader' but gets angry when we try to put him in touch with our captain, or .. or.. the mayor."

"What do we have on this guy?" Eames looked up at the young man.

"He's.. uh.. his name is Earl Harkam. He's a retired postal worker."

"Great. The old stereotype _is _true."

"Uh, yeah," The kid shifted. "He's been unemployed more than he's been employed,"

"Can I see that?" Goren pointed to the file the kid was holding. Taking it gently, he flipped through it. "Eames.. his work history... he's Schitzophrenic, or Bipolar. Given his demands, I'm going to assume he's Schitzophrenic."

"Do you want to inform them that he's paranoid, or do you think they've figured that out?"

"Whatever," Goren sighed and turned towards the bank. He slid the file into his coat and walked up the steps.

Eames took a deep breath and followed.

"Feel like sharing with the rest of the class, today?"

"He wants to talk to the person "in charge" ... I'll be that person."

"Oh, and I thought you had an inflated ego.."

"Eames, he needs someone to fix whatever he feels is wrong. He needs someone who's going to understand his demands. That person is not a public figure, and giving him a name like.. "Captain McMahon" doesn't fit his idea of "someone in charge" ... we're talking deep dark government secrets. Black helecopters. That kind of stuff."

"Oh, fun. I'm glad I wore black today." She pitched her coffee into a trash can and unsnapped the leather strap that kept her gun secure at her hip.

* * *

Goren didn't say anything when he walked into the bank. Eames stayed just outside.

"Are you in charge?" A man said, shakily. He held a shotgun over fifteen frightened hostages. It appeared that no one was injured. Goren could look around without being noticed. The sunglasses helped.

"That's not what I'm here to discuss, Mr. Harkam." Goren spoke in a low monotone. "My identity is unimportant. You've gotten my attention. What do you want?"

"I want you to turn it off." His voice shook despite his efforts to seem sure.

"I don't think so." Goren turned to leave.

"Wait!" The man raised the gun, but Goren turned slowly. He sighed and looked at Harkam. "Please?"

"It can't be done here."

"You're trying to trick me."

"You're a thorn in my side, Mr. Harkam, but I'm not deceiving you. The procedure cannot be done here."

"I'll kill them." Harkam waved the gun shakily.

"And achieve what? You wanted to talk to me, I'm here. But I cannot be swayed by threats of violence. Even if I could,

it wouldn't change anything. The procedure cannot be done here."

In a split second, Goren was on the ground, and Eames had shot Harkam. Disarmed, and wounded, he was quickly apprehended. The shots came later, like sickening echoes. _Bang.. _that was Goren hit. _Bang Bang_ That was her return fire.

She slumped next to him, waiting for the eternity it took for the ambulance to arrive. He looked at her, confused, blood on his hand and lips. Her eyes welled, but no tears spilled out, and she held his hands tightly in hers.

"Bobby.. Bobby.. Bobby..." She whispered, like a mantra.

As his breathing slowed and stopped, his eyes glazing, a sob wracked her, and she pulled him to her, her right arm cradling his head, her left holding him against her. The sirens sounded strange, and she heard them distantly. They weren't the regular wail, but a buzzing noise, pulsing. Louder, and louder.

* * *

She was breathing hard, and it took her a moment to turn the alarm off. She lay in the silence of her bedroom, hearing her coffee maker click on in the kitchen. Her cell phone rang, making her jump. 

"Eames."

"Okay, so toasted bagel with flavored cream cheese and coffee, or danishes and coffee, OR we go to a diner today, because we don't have to be in until ten."

"What?"

"Toasted bagel with--"

"Bobby?"

"Yeah. ... You okay? Did I just wake you up?"

"No.. I.. well yeah. I had ... weird fucking dreams," She muttered.

"Tell me about it. Sorry I woke you up last night."

"What?"

"Nevermind. I'll see you in a half an hour?"

"Yeah." She clapped the phone shut, and leaned foward, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.


	3. Hope

She didn't want to see it. She didn't want to. But his words echoed in her mind. _"You'll need it ahead."_

Her hands shook as she slid the box open with her finger, pulling a wooden match out. She heard a low hiss, or maybe all she heard was the emptiness that surrounded her, and filled her. The scratch of the match against the box was real, though. The flare that burned her eyes and steadied into a solid, tall flame did not flicker, or waver. There was a low endless howl that did not begin, and did not continue. She couldn't tell if she imagined it or it just echoed forever in her mind.

The darkness did not abate, but she moved foward, more confident, in the pitch black. Her feet were sure, and she walked, step after step, one foot directly in front of the other.

* * *

It was quiet, but he thought he had heard something, or maybe just sensed the idea of something. Something lurking, waiting, and tonight, every night, he hoped that thing were a monster, some demon or ghost haunting his closet. It was all too often something else, something tangible, something horribly real, yet surreal all at once. 

He hugged his knees, the darkness surrounding him, the soundless echo of a noise... a noise he could not name or describe, in his ears. He was suddenly aware of how tired he was, and how very... very unalone he was. There was someone, or something close by. He held his breath, and the silence grew louder in his ears, a constant, pressuring anti-sound.

* * *

She felt she had been walking for hours. She worried she'd been walking in circles, a slight curve to the left or right, and who could know where she was? How vast could this tunnel be? If she could find a wall.. perhaps reach out and touch stone, she could trace that, but she did not care to risk touching something else. 

The flame did not ebb or become smaller, instead, it burned continuously, tall and bright. Small, pitifully small against the pressing blanket of darkness that surrounded her. She could barely see her finger tips holding it. Still, she followed it, on and on.

* * *

_Dear Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Dear father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Dear father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdome come, thy will be done--_

Something grabbed his wrist.

* * *

She stopped walking. Her knee had hit something solid. Not hard, but solid enough to stop her steps. She reached out, and her heart leapt in her chest as her hand clasped something warm, and very flesh like. She pulled back, and her shaking hand pointed the match closer to whatever it was. 

There was a little boy sitting on a bed, staring wide eyed into the darkness.

"Bobby?"

* * *

His heart was pounding. Something whispered his name, and he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. Something touched his hand again, but ... it was almost polite, sort of gently tapping his knuckle until he opened his eyes again. He so very much did not want to open his eyes, but he did, anyway. 

There was a girl looking at him. Her face was illuminated faintly by a match, but she was staring at him, wide eyed. She was scared, too.

"Alex?" He reached out his hands to her, and she scooted onto the bed next to him, pulling her feet quickly off of the floor.

"I'm scared." She put the match between them, and he cupped his hand around it, pulling the blankets around her shoulders. She shivered.

"It's okay now." He looked at her, but her face was barely visible in the dark. "It can't get us when we're together. It almost got me, though."

"It almost got me, earlier." She hunted look passed over her face, but he couldn't see it. He sensed it, anyway.

"We gotta stay together." He squeezed her hand.

"We will." Her voice was louder when she said this, and he felt hopeful.

The flame burned a bit brighter. Something, or maybe nothing, shrieked, the sound fading away slowly.

* * *

She jumped as something hit the surface under her. She opened her eyes to see a styrofoam cup next to her nose. She sat up slowly, and rubbed her eyes. 

"Hey," He smiled at her, his tie was loose, and he wasn't wearing his jacket.

"Hi." She stretched slightly, and took a deep breath.

"You should go home."

"Look who's talking." She picked up the cup and took a sip. "Thanks."

"You feeling okay?"

"Yeah.. just not sleeping too well lately."

"What else is new." He finished his own coffee, and pitched it.

"What time is it?"

"Late."

"How late?"

"Too late. Let's get out of here." He picked up his jacket, and reached for hers.

"I'm not arguing." She stood up and smiled as he held her coat open for her.


End file.
